Yesterday, he slapped me and today, without so much as an apology, he was ordering me around like a chauffeur.
"Get out."
I refused so firmly that Thomas was clearly taken aback, his eyes flashing with surprise.
"Do you not love me anymore?"
Once, I loved him more than I loved myself. When I wanted to be good to someone, I’d have gladly given him the world.
But Thomas had taken advantage of my love, using it as a license to hurt me without restraint.
"Yeah, just seeing you now makes me irritated."
I answered him with obvious disgust, ready to drag him out of the car.
Just then, Thomas's phone rang—it was a call from the hospital. He quickly listened to the explanation on the other end.
I didn’t catch all the details, only thinking to myself that I needed to get him out of my car so I wouldn’t be late for work.
But the next second, Thomas, eyes reddened, suddenly pulled me into his arms.
